The Memories Of Our Fathers
by Enigma TM
Summary: On the first anniversary of his father's passing, Louis XIV discovers it was not just the late King whom France had lost on that fateful day. (An entry for the November Fete des Mousquetaires challenge themed "All Saints' Day".)


**PLOT SUMMARY: On the first anniversary of his father's passing, Louis XIV discovers it was not just the late King whom France had lost on that fateful day.**

 **A/N: I want to thank my beta, Venea Taur, for going through this work and providing me with some much needed reassurance.**

 **WARNINGS: None.**

 **DISCLAIMER: The Musketeers are sadly not mine.**

 **English is not my first language. All mistakes are mine.**

 **~oOo~**

It may be because Louis does not find Aramis seated at his usual place behind the mahogany desk, poring over the mountain ranges of documents and ledgers stacked before him.

Or perhaps it has something to do with the way the ex-Musketeer is standing by the side of the gaping window, eyes resting absently on some distant object outside, the blue ministerial cloak draped over his chair, leaving him with only his white shirt and trousers. An elbow rests on the ornate wall, the hand buried deep inside Aramis' dense, dark mop of hair while the fingers of the other is eagerly fidgeting with the gilded crucifix.

Whatever the reason, Louis thinks that something is different today.

The seven-year-old approaches his First Minister who is too lost in his own thoughts to register the boy's presence.

"Aramis," Louis calls, tugging at the man's trousers.

Aramis starts at the sudden intervention.

Funny.

For ages, he has been hiding under desks, concealing himself behind thickets, squeezing inside closets, sneaking up slyly from behind, and on one occasion, much to the horror of his mother, had jumped down from a low hanging tree branch, hoping to elicit _this_ reaction from the man.

But his Minister is either a powerful wizard or in the secret possession of a couple of invisible, extra eyes. How else does he always seem to know exactly what is happening around himself, no matter what he is doing?

The former Musketeer has dismissed both possibilities with a chuckle when confronted by his sovereign about it.

 _Your Majesty can rest assured that I am but an ordinary mortal being."_

 _"Then how did you know that I was hiding behind your chair?" Louis asked, frowning. "You just came in and were standing way over there at the entrance."_

 _"I am an ordinary mortal being bless with a handful of extraordinary talents," Aramis replied with a wink._

 _"_ Majesty?" Aramis enquires looking down at him.

Maybe he is "an ordinary mortal being", after all?

"You promised you will show me an interesting trick with the sword today," Louis informs him.

A pause precedes an 'oh' from the Minister. "Not now, Majesty. I have an appointment with the English ambassador shortly from now."

"When is your meeting ending?"

"I am not sure. Sometime late in the afternoon?" Aramis replies as he takes his seat and picks up one of the many papers littering his desk.

"But I will be at Saint-Denis.* It is the anniversary of my father's passing."

"I am aware," comes the reply.

There it is again. Aramis' face and voice assumes the same peculiar character that Louis has grown used to by now and even come to expect, but can never quite explain, whenever he mentions his father. Does he get angry? But the Minister does not narrow his eyes and slam down his fist on the table and say something that makes the fellow Councillor's face turn into a flush of red as Louis has seen Aramis doing in the few Council meetings he has had to attend.

"...sorry, Louis," the Minister's penitent voice drifts inside his thoughts. "I promise I will try my best to find time tomorrow."

Of course he is upset that the rousing afternoon he had been looking forward to will now instead be spent in the company of his nitpicking governess. But more than that...

"You're not coming with us," he states, eyes resting on the floor near Aramis' boots.

A hand comes to rest softly on his shoulder. "The Musketeers will be escorting you, Louis. They will protect you from any harm. Everything will be fine," Aramis says in a tone as gentle as the weight resting on his shoulder, as if he knows that Louis can hear the deafening gunshots, the terrible shouts of the men baying for blood, his Maman's screams...he _never_ wants to hear his Maman screaming again.**

Yes, he is scared. But he also trusts Aramis. Aramis has never lied to him before.

Ever.

So he nods.

"Everything will be fine," Aramis repeats once more before the weight is lifted from his shoulder.

He looks up finally. The First Minister has gone back to the piece of paper at his hand.

Louis notices that one of Aramis' hands has managed to find its way back into the man's hair. He stares and blinks at the paper for a long time before dropping it with an irritated sigh. The fingers digging inside his hair now travel down to cover his eyes.

He moves forward and stops by the former Musketeer's side.

"Aramis," he calls, nudging the man's thigh.

"Hmm?" Aramis mumbles without looking in the way of a reply.

"Why are you so upset today?" Louis asks.

That earns him an odd sidelong glance revealed through a breach in between the Minister's fingers.

"You can tell me if you want to," the boy king of France urges. "Maman says that shared sorrow is half the sorrow."

A pause and then a soft chuckle. The first semblance of lightheartedness from Aramis since Louis entered his office.

"Your mother is a wise person, Your Majesty. If only half the Council had the sense to realize that," the former Musketeer says, finally looking at him properly.

And there is a tiny upward lift at the corners of his lips along with a faint, almost hesitant glimmer in the Minister's usually bright and dancing eyes.

"So you will heed her advice?"

Another chuckle. More pronounced this time. As are the corners of his lips and the spark in his eyes.

Before he can realize anything else, Louis finds himself scooped up by the Minister's strong arms and placed on his thighs.

"You really want to know?" Aramis asks as he looks down at him. Yes, there's definitely a little smile on his face now. Missing in it's usual richness but a smile nonetheless.

He nods eagerly before leaning forward to add in a conspiratorial whisper, "I promise not to tell anyone about it."

"No, no, it's not something secret," Aramis shakes his head. "It's just..." he tries but ends up trailing off, his eyes staring straight ahead and gathering the same distracted expression Louis had noticed when he entered his office earlier.

"A year ago, on this very day, I lost my father too," he finally says in an impossibly soft tone, looking at the boy seated on his lap.

The seven-year-old's eyes go incredibly round as he breaths, "Your father?"

"Yes, my father in all but blood," Aramis continues, his voice a little more than a whisper. "He was nothing less than a parent to me. Me, Captain d'Artagnan, General du Vallon, even your Uncle Athos. And so many other lost and broken souls like us. He took every single one of us under his wings when the rest of the world would not."

Louis fails to puzzle out why no one would want his First Minister for the man is the cleverest and the most friendly person he knows. Or General du Vallon who has the the loudest and the heartiest laugh and the most fantastic tales to recount. And he knows that his mother trusts the Captain of the Musketeers with her life as he has often heard her say so. Uncle Athos he knows mostly through the anecdotes Aramis fondly recalls from their time together and some of the letters the Minister occasionally shares from their frequent correspondence.

"A man of impeccable honor," he Minister adds. "One of the greatest sons of this soil."

The former Musketeer holds his gaze on Louis as his fingers reach up to gently brush over the child's cheek. That shadow of a smile on his face is as wistful as his voice when he speaks, "He died so the future of France might live."

He watches as the glisten in Aramis' eyes gain on their prominence with every spoken word.

So he does what his mother always did to comfort him.

He hugs Aramis and plants a kiss on his cheek.

"It's alright," Louis consoles, still locked in the embrace. He remembers what Aramis had told him once, when his Papa wouldn't turn up in the mornings to play with him and the people around him said that he never would because he was dead. He had found himself an empty room to cry. That chamber turned out to be the new First Minister's office. Aramis had held him and rubbed his back and soothed him as he sobbed. That was the only time he talked about his father without that peculiar note to his voice.

"He is with God now, watching over us. Just like Papa, as you said."

He cannot see Aramis' face, pressed against his chest as he is. But he can feel his hand reaching up and gently rubbing his back and then moving higher and getting his hair tangled in his fingers.

Rapid knocks on the door cause them to break apart.

"Come in," Aramis calls out to whoever it is on the other side.

The door opens to reveal Bazin, Aramis' elderly secretary, poking his head inside the room. "Sir, Monsieur Scudamore has arrived."

"Yes, send the ambassador over, Bazin."

The little King jumps down from Aramis' lap as Bazin leaves to relay the Minister's message.

"Aramis?"

"Yes?" Aramis asks as he slips into his ministerial cloak.

"Was your father better than you at firing a pistol?"

"Louis, you know better than to ask such questions," the former Musketeer's voice is serious but Louis can detect the familiar twinkle in his eyes and he knows that his Minister is smiling inside.

"Did he teach you that Spanish song?"

"No Majesty, that was my mother."

"Were you his favorite?"

Aramis chuckles. "His favorite person to yell at, perhaps."

"Did he read out the Bible to you like you do to me?"

"No, he didn't," Aramis answers while tidying up his desk. But then he chuckles before adding, "There was that time when I lost that little book in a tavern fight and he moved heaven and earth to get it back. After getting me to muck out the horses for a whole fortnight, of course."

"Really? How?"

A rap on the door interrupts whatever Aramis was about to mouth.

Louis makes a face.

These people always choose the exact _wrong_ moment to interrupt.

"Perhaps we can save this story for bedtime?" Aramis suggests.

The boy's face instantly lights up.

"Yes, that would be excellent! Maman can join us too, then," he says.

Aramis' eyes widen in alarm. "Is it strictly necessary to involve the Queen, Your Majesty? I am afraid the tale is not exactly a paean to Musketeer glory. From my point of view."

It is precisely the nervous edge to the former Musketeer's voice that causes Louis to declare in his most solemn voice, "Yes Aramis, your King demands it."

An elaborate sigh escapes the Minister's lips and he nods his head in supplication. "Very well then; as Your Majesty wishes."

Later in the night, while Aramis is recounting the infamous incident and his Maman is taking immense pleasure in mercilessly teasing the former Musketeer about his foolhardy quests, Louis decides, once again, that bedtime is indeed his favorite time of the day.

 **~oOo~**

 **A/N: *Basilica of S** **aint-Denis, the final resting place of King Louis XIII.**

 **** A reference to a WIP of mine where Aramis, the Queen and the young King are ambushed during a journey.**

 **Yes I absolutely _love_ Papa!Aramis and want to see more such stories on this site. **

**My thanks to everyone who took their time to read it. Do leave me your thoughts on this!**


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